Arts watch.

End Of An Era

Wilco Thanks Lounge Ax With Celebratory Wake

January 12, 2000|By Greg Kot, Tribune Rock Critic.

Eras have to end. Lovers break up. Sometimes the scrambled eggs get served cold. In these character-forming moments, we find out who we are.

At the midway point of Lounge Ax's two-week-long farewell to Lincoln Avenue, the attitude of all involved as the lights slowly dim is to be admired. No pity parties have broken out, and the mood on Sunday with Wilco and friends on stage was loose, a touch punch-drunk, celebratory. The ever-upbeat Scott McCaughey, Jon Langford and Kelly Hogan showed up early, a Billy Bragg impersonator showed up late, and in between, the Chicago-based quintet teetered woozily on the acceptable side of ragged. If only all funerals could be this much fun.

For a number of years, Wilco's Jeff Tweedy has used the club as a proving ground for his new songs, armed only with an acoustic guitar and a harmonica. These events have verged on solemn, almost religious rituals as the faithful hung on every lyric. Meanwhile, Wilco has outgrown the modest club, regularly selling out venues five times its size. Last year, the band played theaters and even arenas on its home turf with awe-inspiring purpose, calling to mind the kaleidoscopic country-soul colors of The Band while polishing their pop sweet tooth.

So it was understandable if Tweedy, Jay Bennett, Ken Coomer, John Stiratt and Leroy Bach treated the Lounge Ax show as a low-pressure frolic for the fans, who were poised to fill in lyrics if the boyish singer with the nicotine rasp were overtaken by any memory gaps (he wasn't). Some of the band's dreamy pop harmonies weren't so dreamy, as sound problems shafted "Summer Teeth," and early on the singer acknowledged, "We wanted to play here one last time, only we didn't want to practice."

But the frayed edges in some cases made the songs even more powerful, particularly the metaphorical music-as-elusive-lover tunes from the band's stellar 1996 album, "Being There." The opening set peaked with "Misunderstood," which began quietly, groaned like a ship about to capsize, and then rode out on a tidal wave. For "Sunken Treasure," a lovely ripple of Bennett keyboards slowly wound itself into a bludgeoning frenzy, with Tweedy accurately offering his assessment of the carnage around him: "I was maimed by rock 'n' roll."

It was a stunning end to the first hour. The band took its leave, quickly returned, and stayed for another hour-plus, as if to dance on the ruins. The ceiling was dripping, the amplifiers sounded fuzzier than usual, and Tweedy pleaded for "a shot in the arm" as those pretty keyboards once again turned mean. Soon it was "Hoodoo Voodoo" time and the guy with the bad Billy Bragg accent showed up, groping for "Walt Whitman's Niece." A couple staggered on the packed floor, doing a death-grip dance to the closing sea chantey. It wasn't always pretty, but heartfelt, blow-down-the-doors revelry seldom is.